Hammock Blog

1 If using the hammock in the wild is only temporary rest, will from time hammock tied very tight. If you are camping in the wild with a hammock, the hammock should be possible

Straightened fastened, the person sleeping on the hammock, the weight of the reason, there will be a large hammock sagging and bending, the people sleeping in the hammock, the body also will be curved, long time, very uncomfortable, try to pull the hammock hammock can be fastened directly to reduce the degree of bending, the more comfortable sleep. Also, do not put a hammock tied too high, one meter height from the ground more appropriate, so that when the hammock up and down easily.
2 Because the hammock like tents, as an independent closed system, the use of a hammock to sleep in the wild, anti-mosquito bites and there will be rain problem. In fact, a little brain teasers, you can very well solve both problems.
Rain: when sleeping in the field to prepare a slightly longer than a hammock, two meters wide plastic film, the film was when it rains “∧” placed in a hammock at the top of the cable, so that it covers hammock, a good rain that can .

Prevent mosquito bites: Prepare a size appropriate gauze, and place the film with the gauze placed in the same way as the head end of the camper, the gauze with a clothespin and sub-folders with a hammock, you can head to prevent mosquito bites. Miehailing liquid soaked into the circle line around the sliver in a hammock tied at both ends of the ropes, or Miehailing directly onto the trunk of the upper and lower ends of rope tied to a hammock, to prevent ants, spiders, centipedes and other crawling insects into the hammock.
Indeed, if no end to have a special tent cloth hammock, even more is a good thing.

The proposal for every-other-week garbage pickup is proving to be as welcome as a caterpillar in the garden salad. The difference is we don’t have to wait for a civic election to throw out the caterpillar.

That there is no appetite for reduced garbage collection should come as no surprise to the brain trust at city hall. It’s not as if anyone was asking for this. Until the city brought it up, I had not heard even one person say, “Gee, I think we’re getting our garbage picked up too often.”

What I do hear from time to time is neighbours on the eve of collection day asking if we have any extra room in our can, and if we do, could they put into it their excess.

Garbage is aromatic enough as it is after a week of ripening in the summer heat. After two weeks, the city would smell like there’s a garbage strike on. No one is asking for this, either. Along with no complaints about excessive garbage collection, I have not heard anyone say the city smells too darn good and something must be done about it at once.

The city does smell good, incidentally, especially from a hammock under a lilac bush. No one wants to be in a hammock under a lilac bush smelling two-week-old garbage.

When I first heard the proposal for biweekly garbage pickup, I actually was delighted. I thought biweekly meant twice a week. This seemed excessive, but I could live with it. No longer would our household descend into panic if I forgot to wheel the can to the curb. With biweekly pickup, we would only have to wait two or three days for the truck to come around again. Stand down, all personnel, from garbage pickup panic stations.

I also was mildly thrilled to hear a proposal, any proposal, for improved services. This I took as a sign of all the prosperity we have been hearing about. Sadly, this prosperity now is threatened by yet another worldwide financial crisis. Almost as discouraging is the Saskatchewan Roughriders losing five of their first six games. Billed at the start of the season as Grey Cup contenders, they instead are in last place. And let’s not forget about the disastrous flooding. That garbage collection in Saskatoon could be improved in the midst of all this turmoil was almost inspirational.

But no. I have since learned that biweekly has divergent definitions. It can mean twice a week or it can also mean once every two weeks. The similar word, bimontly, also is ambiguous, meaning twice a month or once every two months. We’ll have to keep this in mind when someone proposes the inevitable move to bimonthly garbage pickup.

Now that I understand what biweekly garbage pickup really means, I am less than thrilled. City council likewise is unlikely to embrace the proposal. Not when homeowners already are facing the imminent prospect of a new fee for citywide recycling. Sure, we’ll generate less garbage when we all are compelled to recycle, but the problem here is one of time, not space. Even a small amount of garbage left uncollected for too long can generate a big stink. The shelf life seems to be about seven days.

So why are we seeing this cockamamie proposal?

It is a manifestation, I think, of the so-called Washington Monument syndrome, also known as the Mount Rushmore syndrome. First identified and named in the U.S. in 1969, the syndrome describes a particular, perverse bureaucratic response to budget cutting.

In that case, the cuts were to the U.S. National Park Service. The service responded by selectively closing some of its most popular sites for two days a week, including Mount Rushmore and the Washington Monument. No one ever came out and said the idea was to provoke a public outcry and pressure Congress to restore parks funding, but that’s what happened.

Here, the civic administration seems to be saying significant cuts to a municipal budget growing faster than the rate of inflation means reductions to essential services such as summertime garbage collection. We shall see.

Incidentally, the U.S. parks director who closed the Washington Monument later was fired. That’s a whole other kind of cost cutting.

As an inveterate bookworm (a label I’ve never liked, by the way, but accept), I’m happy to read most anywhere, anytime the opportunity provides. Nonetheless, I still have a few favorite spots and even some (doctors’ offices and airplanes quickly spring to mind) where, despite the available time, I can’t focus on the page. Unlike some folks, I’m not good at blotting out distractions — I need serious peace and quiet. With this summer reading season now well along, then, here are my most cherished places to settle in with the printed word.

My backyard — Or more specifically, my big white-rope hammock strung up between a pair of 4-by-4 posts in what I affectionately call “the bunkhouse.” This is actually what’s left of a 10-foot-square frame utility building that Hurricane Ivan pretty well clobbered, leaving only the elevated bull-nosed wooden deck, stout corner supports and an open 2-by-4 roof structure. But it’s in a far corner of the yard, with pecan limbs arching over it, and provided the weather’s not too hot or cold, there’s no place else I’d rather be with a good book. Gently swaying in the hammock with my dogs contentedly sprawled beneath, a sweating glass of unsweet tea positioned within easy reach, and a green and blue tracery overhead defined by the weathered 2 by 4s — that’s reading heaven.

The Fairhope Public Beach — Specifically the north end, far from most people except for the occasional pair of lovers who wander past seeking solitude for their own reasons. Here I like to unfold a canvas chair and settle down next to several half-buried creosote pilings. These provide handy little tabletops for drinks, books and papers, and the view is endlessly varied. The bay in its many moods is fascinating (I have never had any patience with people who say Mobile Bay is boring), and the sunsets range from muted to fire in the sky. The rhythmic lap of waves and the mocking, laughing gulls quickly work their magic, and time simply vanishes.

My living-room sofa — It’s just the right length for stretching out and conveniently has elbow rests that provide the ideal support for head and feet. During summer’s extended afternoons the lunette window in our front door provides all the illumination I need, and in the winter dark a reading lamp with a three-way bulb situated on the nested end table works just fine. With a comfortable pillow and a soft throw, the situation is ideal, and sleep often creeps upon me. Hours later I awaken, book still open on my chest, faithful light still burning, and it’s time to stumble to bed.

Marnie and John Burke Memorial Library, Spring Hill College — I didn’t think I would ever recover from the closure of the wonderful old Thomas Byrne Memorial Library with its soaring reading room and magnificent stacks, but I must admit the new space is very conducive to the quiet art of reading. Just as in the old facility, the books are arranged in close-shelved order and include plenty of esoteric and surprising volumes. One recent Saturday I was delighted to discover an old 1940s book about the Mississippi River signed by the author, Hodding Carter (patriarch of a distinguished family of Magnolia State achievers), out in the stacks with everything else. I carried this little treasure over to a comfortable upholstered chair near the second-floor windows — no one anywhere near — and gently turned the slightly yellowed pages to the accompaniment of a thrumming rain. If a writing surface is wanted, study carrels along the north side are equally inviting.

In bed — This ranks as a top choice for many people, for it’s usually here that blessed time becomes available and the household is mercifully quieted down. In my case, a small lamp perched atop a little bookshelf provides a pool of yellow light, and the shelf allows several choices within easy reach. Melville’s “The Piazza Tales” and Proust’s “Remembrance of Things Past” are repeat selections, instantly engaging. There’s also a book of Southern author portraits that offers interesting insights. Not a few pictures of these wordsmiths were shot in their favorite reading places — ranging from piers to offices to a log cabin.

In the end, of course, the place only matters so much. Wherever one is located, it doesn’t take long at all before the book carries one away to the best place of all — the imagination.